Running Out of Time
by FairytaleLogicMagic
Summary: When Peter(Pietro) Maximoff is kidnapped by Stryker, Charles finds out. He works with Erik, Hank, and Mystique to formulate a rescue plan. Meanwhile, Pietro finds a piece of his past he'd lost years ago. Post DoFP, not Apocalypse compliant (though that's an awesome movie!). A/N: Pietro's little sister is non-existent in this fic, but I will be bringing Wanda in at some point.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Sir?"

Stryker glanced up from the files in his hands, narrowing his eyes at the young officer who spoke. "You better have a damn good reason for interrupting me, McNab," he growled.

McNab shifted on his feet, eyes darting around nervously. He coughed to clear his throat. "I- I believe I've found something that may interest you, sir. A mutant. One matching the description of one of the mutants who broke into the Pentagon."

If possible, Stryker's stare intensified, his gaze falling on the files in the officer's hand. "Give those here," he ordered, reaching out. McNab hurriedly complied.

"The pictures are from a security feed in a convenience store in New York," McNab explained. "We believe it may be the fast one- the one who took out the guards."

Stryker said nothing, only opening the file, looking over the pictures. There were only two, but that was enough. A silver streak stretched across the first photo, but was too blurry to make out any defining features.

The second, however, was a different story. Green eyes were met by a grainy image of a teen reaching towards what looked to be candy bars. Taking in the obnoxious silver hair (not to mention the jacket), Pink Floyd t-shirt, and goggles, a slow smile spread across Stryker's face.

"McNab?"  
"Sir?"  
"Gather your squad. We have our next target."


	2. Taken

Chapter 1: Taken

 **A/N: Hey, guys! This story takes place after X-Men: DoFP. I am making a few changes, however. Peter's little sister from the movie is nonexistent in this fic, but I will be bringing Wanda in at some point, as, in my opinion, you can't have one without the other.**

 **Please Like and leave a Review. : )**

 **Anyways, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish it, X-Men is not mine.**

Peter Maximoff had messed up. Big time. Sure, he'd messed up before- moving a hundred times as fast as anyone else opens up _way_ too many possibilities- but this was by far the worst. This time he'd gone and broken a terrorist out of prison.

Not that he'd _known_ Erik Lensherr was a terrorist, but Peter should have realized the man was in the Pentagon for a reason. Maybe thought to question how the trio of a hippie, nerd, and lumberjack knew who he was, or _why_ they wanted to free a criminal.

Breaking the man- 'Magneto', apparently- out had been a piece of cake, and Peter hadn't thought much of it. But, watching Magneto's speech, seeing his adoptive mom's face fill with fear as Magneto lifted an entire stadium, _that_ was when Peter knew he'd made a terrible mistake.

That was two weeks ago, and Marya hadn't spoken to Peter in a proper conversation since. Honestly, he'd nearly had a heart attack when her shaky voice had called him to dinner.

Peter sighed and stabbed at his broccoli with a fork. Usually dinners meant witty banter exchanged back and forth, chatting about their day. Today was not the case, Peter realized sadly- a heavy silence hung over the table. For what seemed like forever, the only sound was the clinking of silverware against plates. Finally, he couldn't take the awkward silence anymore, and coughed to clear his throat as he prepared to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Peter's head snapped up in surprise, silver hair flopping in front of his eyes as he looked at his aunt. "What?"

Marya sighed and looked at him, absently tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you in a while. It's just-" Here her voiced cracked, and Peter winced at the raw emotion in her voice. "It's just... been a lot to think about. I should've-"

Peter cut her off. "It's alright. If I were you, I wouldn't talk to me either."

She shook her head. "No, Peter, you don't understand- _can't_ understand- until I tell you, which I should've done long ago."

"Hey, you're kind of freaking me out. Just yell at me, or someth-"

" _Pietro!_ "

That shut Peter up right away. Marya hadn't used his given name in a long time- not since they'd moved to the States when he was seven. ' _We're in America now, sweetie. It'll be easier on you to have an American name- help you fit in.'_ It hadn't helped, not really- silver hair was pretty much a guaranteed alienator from 'normal' people- but he'd been called Peter ever since.

Unless he was in major trouble. Like now.

"Pietro," Marya said again, calmer this time, "You need to listen to me, no talking this time. Okay?" Pietro nodded hesitantly, confusion in his brown eyes. "Good." Marya paused for a second, which seemed like a small eternity for Pietro, as she took a shaky breath.

"That man on t.v. is Erik Lensherr. I once knew him, your _mother_ knew him. Very well, I might add."

 _No._

Pietro saw the world slow to a near complete stop as realization dawned on him, but couldn't bring himself to care. _The man who could control metal,_ Pietro thought. Then: _Agh! Oh my gosh! I'm such an idiot! OhmygoshohmygoshI'msostupid-_

"Pietro, dear, you're vibrating," Marya chided gently, cutting off his internal monologue. She reached out a hand to smooth down his hair, but Pietro jerked away from the touch. Never before had he felt so betrayed, so hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he murmured. Then, louder, "You should have told me!" Pietro was definitely trembling now, faster than before, and the table began to shake a little from where his hands rested along it's surface, causing the silverware to rattle. This was not the excitement that usually came before a shoplift. This was anger.

"Magda wouldn't've wanted you to know. She was _scared_ of him, Pietro! She saw his powers and ran, to keep you safe! We're both lucky she hadn't told Erik she was pregnant, or he might've taken you away from me!"

"And as I got older, were you scared of me, too? Scared I'd leave you to fight alongside a terrorist? Didn't you trust me?" Pietro's knuckles were white as he clenched the table, mind racing. Erik Lensherr, a.k.a Magneto- the man who threatened the _president-_ was his _father!_

 _"_ Pietro, you went and _broke him out of prison!_ If I had known that's where you were going, I never would've let you go with those men!" Marya's voice was rising now, too, which was uncharacteristic of his aunt, but Pietro didn't care.

"Anything else I should know? Do I have a secret sibling? Are you even my aunt?" Only nonsense was spouting out of his mouth now, and Pietro knew it. He stood up, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. Before Marya had the chance to say anything else, Pietro dashed to his room in the basement, slamming the door behind him as he went.

He threw himself towards the bed, barely registering the soft thump that resulted from his pillow hitting the floor, shaken off by the force of his body hitting the large piece of furniture. Opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling, Pietro finally allowed those tears he had been holding fall.

He had a father. More importantly, he now knew who that father _was_. Who just so happened to be the most wanted criminal in North America.

And Marya had never told him anything before today. She had told him his dad had left him the moment he was born, let Pietro believe his only living parent didn't want him.

If what Marya had said this time around was true, then Erik had no idea he had a son, let alone that son was _Pietro_. Which meant Erik hadn't left Pietro on purpose, and might've been willing to raise him if he'd known.

Despair weighed like a stone in Pietro's chest. Chances were good he'd never see Erik again, which was probably a good thing, all things considered. Yet, Pietro couldn't help but wish to speak to the man again, now that he knew of their relation. Just to see for himself how Erik really was, if he really was as evil as the news portrayed.

Pietro hurriedly wiped a hand across his eyes, drying the tears that had run down his face. He knew what he'd do now, find the place on that crumpled card Pietro had taken from the hippie's (Carter? Carlton? Charles?) wallet.

A sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over Pietro, causing him to sag into the mattress. Tomorrow, he decided, tomorrow he'd search for the guy's house. Right now, though, Pietro needed to rest. The seventeen-year-old closed his eyes, forcing his brain to slow down enough to allow him to drift off into what would hopefully be a dreamless, uneventful sleep.

Pietro should've known the peacefulness of sleep wouldn't last. Instead, he was woken by a loud knocking on the front door of the house. Pietro didn't bother to get up, however, instead glancing up at the clock that hung on the wall across the room. Who the heck would come to his house at eleven thirty-five? Actually, Pietro knew the answer to that- the police had shown up at an ungodly hour like this a few times, when it had taken them a little longer to realize Pietro was the one who stole whatever from some store. So Pietro didn't bother to get up, knowing Marya would answer the door.

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps making their way towards the door could be heard, quickly followed by the slight creak of door hinges. Pietro strained his ears to listen to the conversation taking place upstairs.

"Ms. Maximoff?" a gruff voice asked.

"Yes," Marya replied, "that's me. Is this about Peter? I'm pretty sure he hasn't left the house other than to go to school for the past few weeks-" her voice was cut off by a loud bang, followed by a soft thump.

Pietro bolted out of his bed at the sound. _No! Nonononono!_ The silver-haired teen dashed up the stairs, running as fast as he could to the front door.

The sight that met him caused his throat to close and his chest to tighten, making him unable to breathe.

There, lying crumpled on the floor, was his Aunt Marya, a single red hole in her forehead. The woman who had raised him, usually so full of life, lie there, limp and unmoving.

Two men stood in the doorway, clothed in black vests and army green pants. One held a gun, still pointed at where Marya's head had been, while the other held a strange remote in his hands, supposedly a communicator.

Glancing out the window showed Pietro that the house was surrounded by many more men, all clothed similarly to the two in the doorway.

Pietro looked at his Aunt Marya once more, rage and fear building in his chest. Whoever these men were, they were most certainly after Pietro. He had to get out of there. He had to leave Marya. But first... Pietro knelt swiftly and closed Aunt Marya's open eyelids, planting a kiss on her forehead before moving to stand once more.

He dashed for the door, ramming his shoulder into the stomach of the guy with the gun before turning to slam into the other. If he could just-

A sudden searing pain stopped Pietro in his tracks. His head felt like it was being stabbed with a million tiny knives as a screeching note was picked up by his ears. _The remote!_

"Aargh!" Pietro yelled in pain, clutching his head as he fell to his knees. Everything _hurt._ But he had to keep going, had to get out of there.Gritting his teeth, the teen made an attempt to move, to continue running, only to find that his muscles wouldn't listen to him. Instead, his body gave out and he slumped to the ground, the ringing in his ears drowning everything out, including his thoughts.

Laying there in the doorway, Pietro watched with quickly deteriorating vision as a blurred figure stepped towards him. He made one last-ditch effort to flee, to do _something_ , but to no avail.

 _"_ Peter Maximoff," the figure chuckled, "the fastest man in the world. You are going to be so useful for our cause."

The last thing Pietro registered was the sharp prick of a needle, then everything went black.


	3. The News

**A/N: The second chapter! I'm not as happy with this one, but some readers on really wantedan update. I apologize for the lack of action in this one, but there should be some in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

"Erik, I swear, if you set the kitchen on fire again-"

"Oh, relax, Charles!" Erik Lensherr grumbled as he poured the pancake batter onto the stove. "That was one time. I'm perfectly able to make pancakes."

"That's what you said about the shepherds' pie," Raven commented dryly from her seat at the table across from Charles, "and the pot roast." The blue mutant leaned back in her chair, idly glancing at the t.v. in the next room.

"Nothing happened when I made the pot roast!" Erik muttered, turning up the heat on the stove.

"It was pretty burnt." Hank's voice could be heard from the couch in front of the television.

"I didn't hear anyone asking for your input, Beastie."

Charles shook his head, chuckling softly. He took a long swig of his water before speaking. "Actually, I think it's rather useful to get a genius's opinion on such important matters. Could save my life. I wouldn't want to survive  
dangerous battles only to succumb to food poisoning." The telepath smirked, brown eyes twinkling, "The chances of which have increased dramatically since you moved in."

Erik smiled and didn't bother to reply this time- he knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

Life had been kind to Erik these past two weeks- _Charles_ had been kind to Erik. After Erik had made his rousing speech for mutantkind, Charles had Hank grab Erik to take him back to the mansion. Erik had been there ever since- unable  
to leave due to the worldwide manhunt in his name.

At first it had been extremely awkward- the tension in the mansion so thick you could cut it with a knife. No one had the willingness to trust Erik again, so soon after yet another (somewhat) betrayal-and the feeling was mutual.

But slowly, ever so slowly, the untrusting glares of Mystique and Hank turned into casual looks of indifference, though they still didn't include Erik in any conversations. Finally, after a week and a half of near silence, conversations were struck  
again- about the weather, remodels for the mansion, plans for the school- casual camaraderie that had long since been missing from Erik's life.

"Hey, uh, guys?" Hank's voice shook Erik out of his reverie, "isn't that Peter's house?"

 _Peter?_ Erik thought. _Who- Ah, yes. The speedster._ The one who broke him out of prison, chattering incessantly the entire time. Erik had been tempted to use that duct tape to shut the teenager up before he caused Erik  
to suffer a migraine, but the elevator ride had ended before he was able to act on his thoughts. The man had certainly not been sorry to see Peter go once they got out of the Pentagon.

Figures the kid would come back to bug him at some point.

Sighing, Erik switched the stove off, rueing the loss of what would've been perfectly good pancakes, and turned to join the others, who had by now crowded around the large tv. Seeing that everyone was ready, Hank unpaused the news and leaned forward,  
shifting his glasses anxiously.

 _Jeanine Matthews, the lead anchor for Channel 7, cast a quick glance down at her notes before looking back at the camera._

 __

 _"Thank you, John," the blonde smiled, "Good to know we can be expecting clear skies throughout the week." Here Jeanine's impossibly bright smile dropped, her face becoming more serious._

 __

 _A picture of the front of a house was then shown on screen, clearly taken from a cell phone. The house was fairly small-only one floor- and had clearly not been refurbished in quite a few years. The owners were either not caring or not wealthy enough to afford renovations._

 __

 _Jeanine began to speak again. "Yesterday morning, a body with a bullet wound to the head was found in this house in Bronxville. A mailman that had come to deliver the paper saw the body in the open doorway, and immediately called the police. The police have reported that the body belongs to that of the owner of the house, and are prohibited from giving any names, including that of the suspect. They did share that the body was a woman in her late forties, and was allegedly shot by her mutant son. Officials have managed to bring the son into their custody, and would like to assure the public that the menace is no longer a danger."_

 __

 _This said, Jeanine's smile returned. "Now, I'd like to bring your attention over to Dom. He's managed to get amazing seats for the Dodgers game this afternoon, and-"_

***

The screen went black as Hank pressed the power button on the remote. He turned to face the others, biting his lower lip worriedly. "Well?"

Charles closed his eyes, mouth tightening. "That's undoubtedly Peter's house," he agreed, "and the body-" the professor trailed off, shaking his head sadly. _Is his aunt,_ he meant to say, but couldn't finish.

"I'm sorry," Mystique interjected, "but who's this 'Peter'?" The blue mutant tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for an answer. She was unused to not knowing everything when it came to Charles, and was annoyed at the thought he hadn't told  
her.

Charles shook his head to clear his thoughts, "Yes. I'm sorry, Raven- I forgot you weren't there. Peter is a young mutant, with the ability to move faster than is humanly possible."

Charles ignored Erik's; ' _That's putting it mildly,_ ' and continued. "He aided us in releasing Erik, but I sent him back to his home immediately after- I didn't want him to get involved any more than he had to."

' _Even though he would have made everything so much easier_ ,' Hank muttered in his mind.

Charles didn't bother to reply, only throwing a warning look at the genius. Both Hank and Logan had argued strongly (not necessarily out loud) in favor of bringing the silver-haired teen along, but Charles had shot them down. Peter was a _teenager_ ,  
and did not need to be put in unnecessary danger. Which he very well might be in now.

"Sounds like that didn't really help," Mystique pointed out. "Also, seems like Peter's gone and killed his mother. Not exactly someone I'd like to meet." She moved around the back of the couch and slid gracefully onto Hank's lap.

"That's what I thought, too," Hank stated as he wrapped his skinny arms around Mystique's waist, "but I don't think Peter would do something like that. He was extremely obnoxious, but I don't think he had a murderous bone in his body. Even  
when he took out the guards, none of them were seriously injured. Just unconscious."

Charles glanced at Erik, but the other man didn't say anything, expression neutral. Fine. "I agree with Hank," Charles added, "Which means Peter may be in serious trouble. Even if he was gone when his aunt was shot, which I believe to  
be the best possible scenario to have occurred, he'll be on the run."

' _But not the_ likely _scenario_ ,' Erik's voice admonished in Charles's mind. ' _We both know what happened to him._ '

"It's likely Stryker took him," Mystique mused, as if reading their thoughts, "He was well known to have been helping Trask with mutant experimentation, and he has enough political power to get away with some seriously shady stuff."

"Stryker was the general, yes?"

"Yep. The one who shocked me."

Charles nodded, pursing his lips. "So, the question is- where is Peter now? I am uncertain of where Stryker could be holding him."

Erik looked at Charles from where he stood, arms crossed. "So, you're actually thinking about a rescue? I doubt the kid's worth risking any of our lives."

"Of course!" Charles stated forcefully, "I do not need an excuse to rescue a mutant, as that is part of my job, but Peter was a great help and a kind boy. He deserves our help." The telepath gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly as his  
temper started to rise.

Erik just shrugged his shoulders. "The way I see it, he got me out, he can get himself out. He shouldn't have been careless enough to get caught."

"Well!" Hank exclaimed hurriedly before either Erik or Charles could say anything else, "I vote we at least _try_ to help Peter. Raven, how 'bout you?"

The mutant in question narrowed her eyes in thought. She said nothing for a couple of seconds, running over the facts in her head. "Well," Mystique said finally, "as I said before, I don't know Peter- but, I agree with Charles. Being  
Stryker's prisoner is no fun." The shapeshifter turned her yellow gaze on Erik. "This idiot doesn't know what he's talking about. There is _no escaping_ when Stryker has you."

Erik only shrugged and absently rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. "If you're all really doing this, I'll help, but I'm still not for breaking out some hyperactive teenager who can't keep his mouth shut."

"We're doing this."

"Fine," Erik growled, "and how exactly do you plan to find him?"

Charles was already rolling his wheelchair out of the room and down one of the mansion's many halls. "Cerebro is a great place to start. See if I can find his mind," the brown-haired professor called over his shoulder before disappearing from  
sight.

Hank and Mystique moved to follow the Professor, both throwing a quick glance at Erik before leaving Erik in the living room.

"Fine," Erik muttered to the empty room, "let's find Peter."


	4. Captured

Pietro had a new sympathy for all those miscellaneous thugs the hero always beat up in action movies. While there hadn't been a blow to the head to knock him out, the drugs that had been injected into him had done their job well. His head _hurt,_ and his mind was foggy, unable to form a clear thought. Except for the obvious; _Where am I?_

Pietro groaned and struggled to open his eyes. _Whoa- big mistake!_ The bright light that pierced his vision sent a bolt of searing pain tearing through his head. The teen gasped as spots danced before his eyes and quickly screwed them shut, breath quickening.

Okay, so he'd have to focus on what he could sense without his vision for a bit. Pietro shivered in the lying position he was currently in. Wherever he was, it was _really freaking cold_. The silver-haired mutant made an attempt to wrap his arms around himself; only to find he couldn't. Something- manacles probably- kept his arms bound together in front of his torso. Just brilliant. Pietro groaned and strained his ears while attempting to suppress another shiver. The seventeen-year-old frowned when he couldn't pick up anything but the faint hum of the lighting. Pietro sighed and debated trying to open his eyes again. Considering the fact that his head was still pounding, that would not be a good idea- at least not yet.

Instead, the speedster went over the previous events in his head, trying to sort through the jumbled memories, despite the fog over his mind. How had he gotten here? Pietro remembered the reveal of his true parentage, and the fight with Marya that followed. He'd stormed off to his room, then- _No!_

Last night's- at least, he assumed it was last night- memories came flooding back into Pietro, along with a wave of horror. He remembered clearly now. The men- the gunshot- his Aunt Marya's lifeless body- _Oh gosh_. A wave of nausea rolled over Pietro, _Aunt Marya! Nonononono!_ He gulped back tears, breath hitching. Aunt Marya was dead. Gone. And Pietro was in the hands of her murderers.

He had to open his eyes, actually _see_ where he was. Pietro took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Then another. And another. Finally, Pietro decided to just go for it and started to slowly- slowly- open his brown eyes. While he was still met with a stabbing pain as the light touched his eyes, it seemed to be diluted compared to the first time, and Pietro could handle it if he kept breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Blinking rapidly, the silver-haired mutant turned his gaze on his surroundings. There wasn't much to look at. The walls were stark white, clearly not the steel or stone he'd been expecting, with a door on the wall opposite him. There was a tiny window on the door, but it was too far away for him to see through in his current position. What actually interested Pietro was that one wall was made entirely of what looked to be a mirror. _Huh._ Pietro began to struggle to his feet- mentally cursing the bindings on his wrists, which did not make getting up easier _at all_ \- with the full intention of checking out the mirror, only to find a chain clamped around his left ankle. _Shoot!_ Pietro traced the chain with his eyes, following the links to a rung bolted to the wall right behind him. The teen was angered to find the chain only allowed about three feet of movement in any direction. Inwardly, he cursed his captors-whoever they were- throwing every insult he knew their way. Outwardly, however, Pietro shook his leg and arms as fast as he could, making as much noise as possible. He wasn't sure who could hear him, but was just...protesting. Pietro growled when he realized he was getting nowhere. _That's it._

"Hey!" he yelled, turning to face the mirror (He's seen the movies- a mirror in a cell is rarely just a mirror), "Whoever you are, let me go! You have no right to keep me here! Someone's gonna find me, and they're gonna kick your-"

 _Bang!_ The speedster's tirade was cut short by the door across the room slamming open. An imposing figure wearing the same army green pants and black vest of the men who'd shot Marya stood in the doorway. The man stepped forward, followed by two more men, each dressed the same, and Pietro recognized the close-cropped black hair and blue eyes of the man who'd injected him with the needle. The mutant was disheartened to notice that each held the remote that had emitted the high-pitched noise- that had utterly rendered Pietro helpless- in their hands.

"Peter Maximoff," the leader drawled, "how nice to finally make your acquaintance, though I do wish it was under better circumstances- for you, anyway." Pietro kept his mouth clamped shut, wishing he could smack the smug smirk off of the guy's face. Sensing the teen wasn't going to reply, the man continued speaking. "I am Major William Stryker. It was brought to my attention that a certain mutant terrorist was let out of the Pentagon. And, do you know what I found? A certain _speedster_ was mainly responsible."

Of course. Of _freaking_ course. The Pentagon thing had come back to bite him in the butt. Pietro was seriously regretting the actions of two-weeks-ago-him. Those actions did not bode well for right-now-him.

"And then I thought," Stryker continued, "super speed? Now, that is an interesting mutation. Sure, we've seen women who can change their appearance, and burly men with claws- but we've already had the chance to examine _them_. The speed you have- it could be very useful for our armed forces, or countless other projects. So, we're going to figure out how it works. How _you_ work."

Pietro shuddered at the menacing tone to the major's voice as he said those words; _How_ you _work_. Like he was some machine to be fixed. Which, he supposed, was exactly what he was to these people. But, remembering what they did to Marya, anger won over the fear building in his chest. The teen shook his head incredulously, "Not gonna happen, man. If you think I'm going to listen to you after what you and your men did, you're delusional!"

He turned his head frantically, looking for an escape route, but then remembered the chain around his leg. _Dang it!_ Pietro frowned, _Wait a minute_ \- Maybe he could do the same thing he's done countless times before with glass- if he could just vibrate fast enough...

The silver-haired mutant frowned in concentration as he tried to move his leg fast enough to shatter the metal. After what felt like quite a few seconds- to him, anyway- only about a half of a second to everyone else- his ankle began to burn due to the friction of the cuff on his skin. With the realization that he was getting nowhere, Pietro stopped his frantic movements with a huff. He looked back at Stryker to see that the smirk was back.

"I was afraid you'd say that. Luckily, I came prepared." With that Stryker nodded at the slightly smaller man to his left, who swiftly pressed the button on his remote.

The shriek that followed brought Pietro to his knees, his brain immediately losing control of his muscles as the (unfortunately) now-familiar searing pain returned. "McNab, Spencer," Stryker prompted briskly. The two cronies stepped forward, one- Spencer, judging by the name tag- reached down and unlock the cuff on the mutant's ankle before each grabbed Pietro by his shoulders an ankles. How on earth were these people not in any pain? There was no way the whistle should leave the men totally unaffected, unless- yep. Sure enough, some type of ear plug rested in the ears of each man, which explained the lack of screaming on their part.

The mutant attempted to wriggle out of their calloused hands as they lifted him, but his attempt was in vain. It was more like he vaguely thought the word 'escape'. No actual wriggling involved.

As Pietro was carried out the door and down stark white halls, he tried to memorize his surroundings. There were multiple doors completely identical to his, but he couldn't focus well enough to keep track of how many. After quite a few twists and turns, the group came to a stop in front of another thick door. As Stryker stepped forward and pulled a plastic card out of a pocket hidden on the inside of his jacket, Pietro realized he was beginning to regain some control over his muscles- his mouth, at least.

"What the heck are you gonna do to me?" the speedster mumbled, still finding it difficult to speak. Stryker said nothing, swiping his card through a small box on the wall next to the door handle. The little box beeped, flashing green, and the major pushed the door open before standing aside, allowing Pietro's man-handlers to step forward and dump him unceremoniously on the hard floor. The pair backed out of the doorway, shutting the door, a resounding click signifying the lock slipping back into place.

The seventeen-year-old blinked in confusion as he noticed a sleek black treadmill resting not two feet from his face.

"Mr. Maximoff," Stryker's voice echoed through the room with a slight crackling, leading Pietro to believe he was talking through some speakers. "The paralysis on your muscles should cease in a few minutes. When it does, you are going to get on that treadmill, and run."

"Ha," Pietro scoffed humorlessly, "nice try. There's not a treadmill existing that can keep up with me." He couldn't help but notice the faint tingling sensation that was now running through his body. He could believe what Stryker said this time, it seemed- Pietro could move his fingers a bit now.

"I think you'll find this one can. Now, you will do as I ask, and run on that treadmill. If you don't, well, there're other ways to measure just how fast you can go. Believe me when I say that this is the most pleasant for you."

"No."

"I don't think you understand, Mr. Maximoff. I tend to get what I want. And I. Want you. To run."


	5. The Search

"Alright, Professor," Hank stated as he fiddled around with Cerebro, preparing the machine, "when you find Peter- wherever he is- Cerebro should be able to give us the coordinates. Just like last time, alright?"

"Yes, yes, Hank. I've done this before," Charles sighed, reaching for his helmet. "Let's get on with it."

Erik couldn't help but agree with Charles. If they were going to attempt a rescue for the kid (Who he still wasn't sure was worth them all risking their necks), they should get it done as quickly as possible. He'd seen what had happened to  
Stryker's victims, and it wasn't pleasant. Contrary to popular belief, Erik wasn't heartless. He wouldn't wish that pain on anybody, much less a teenager. The sooner they saved Peter, the better.

"Okay, let's do this." Hank nodded at the professor, who set the helmet over his head and closed his eyes.

Immediately, a rush of voices filled the room. Young voices, old voices, even the curious thoughts of infants. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see Mystique's eyes widen a fraction. He couldn't blame her- though they'd both seen  
Cerebro in action before, it was still an amazing sight. There were so _many_ people in the world. So many _mutants_.

Erik saw Charles's eyes gain a far away look to them, and the focus of the room began to zoom in many directions as the telepath began his search. The forms of different mutants flashed by as Charles sifted through their minds, searching for the  
one they wanted.

The rest of the group waited silently as the telepath did his work, all watching the process carefully in the hopes of catching sight of Peter the second he was found.

After a couple of minutes, Charles sighed. "I can't find him _anywhere_. Either someone's blocking me or..."

No one needed him to finish his sentence. If Peter was dead... Well, Erik had only seen him for about an hour total, but it would be a shame for someone with so much potential to be lost.

"I'm going to try to find Stryker instead- see if I can get any information from him." Charles didn't wait for a reply as he immediately dove back into his search.

This time, the figures that flashed by were white, and human. Finally, a lone figure of a muscled man became the main focus of Cerebro.

 _Stryker_. Erik recognized the major from the altercations at both the White House and the meeting for the Accords.

' _When...have to...keep an eye on._.'

"How... strange," Charles frowned, "There's this weird static- I can't get a clear reading." Erik saw his old friend/sometimes rival grip the arms of his wheelchair tightly. "Something's blocking me."

"Try searching for the source," Mystique suggested, lips pursed. "Can you get a lock on Stryker's location, at least?"

"He's somewhere on the edge of New York, but I can't get an exact location, it's too fuzzy."

Erik frowned in thought. He doubted that whatever was blocking Charles was made out of the same material his helmet was- as, according to Charles, _everything_ was blocked when the helmet was worn. He supposed it was possible, however unlikely,  
for there to be another element with similar properties. Unless...

 _Verdammt._

"It's a mutant," Hank spoke with sudden realization, voicing Erik's thoughts as well. "It's gotta be, right? Since it can't be the same as the helmet-"

"Yes," Charles cut in. The telepath frowned in concentration. "It's... odd- I can sense the presence of a mutant, but there's no identifying factors. None that I can sense anyway. I can't hear anything, which seems like the mutant  
is indeed the source, what with the block being so strong."

The professor moved to lift the helmet off of his head. "I shouldn't poke around any longer- if the mutant is strong enough to block me, then the chances are good that he can read mine, or at least sense my presence." The room went back to  
its plain, pale gray state as Cerebro shut down.

"You can try again when we've formulated some sort of plan," Erik agreed, "we'll probably need the location again, and more details." Erik frowned as he caught sight of a slight upturn of Mystique's lips as she looked at him. "What?"

The blue mutant shook her head in amusement. "You," she said, "An hour ago, you were completely against this little rescue mission." Charles and Hank were both grinning now, and Erik did not like the smug way Hank was crossing his arms one  
bit. Mystique raised an eyebrow, "Now you're planning it out?"

"What? No!" Erik stated incredulously, "I was just pointing some stuff out for your benefit." He began to make his way to the door that led out into the hallway in an unhurried fashion. "You all are the ones that care about this little operation-  
I'm just here to help out. Knowing Hank, you're going to need it."

Erik could hear a muttered curse from Hank, but elected to ignore it, instead leading the others out the door.

"Sure you are," Mystique said from behind him.

 **A/N: Verdammt means 'damn it' in German.**


End file.
